


Paint On A Canvas

by ForbiddenToast



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff without Plot, M/M, that's it really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 11:56:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7933729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForbiddenToast/pseuds/ForbiddenToast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s beautiful. Like an entire art gallery, and Pete could admire him for hours if only Patrick would let him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint On A Canvas

**Author's Note:**

> just a bit of free writing i did to improve my handwriting that got horrendous over the summer and i don't wanna turn up to 6th form with the handwriting of a p1. plus there's been a lack of fluff lately and I thought I'd try and help remedy that.

Patrick’s body is like an art museum, Pete muses one night; So very pretty, covered in pieces of art and steeped in history that spans back years.

Like his skin for example, with faint scars littering odd places here and there from accidents like abstract art. The splattering effect of freckles on his back and the dark red bruise on his neck from last night, courtesy of Pete, and the way it stands out against white skin, like paint on a canvas.

Or take the silvery line running through his eyebrow, Pete’s doing again after an unfortunate accident. This one has over a decade of history behind it and it reminds Pete how Patrick’s remained constant throughout the years like it. How a single scar, among many other invisible ones, refuse to heal and disappear and how Patrick’s okay with that and that he’s finally made peace with them. Showing how much he has grown as a person.

He’s beautiful. Like an entire art gallery, and Pete could admire him for hours if only Patrick would let him. 

There’s also black dots invading the spaces between Patrick’s fingers, new, modern and only made three hours ago when the blonde was writing a new arrangement. Smudged into uncoordinated black streaks , including one his cheek, and it reminds Pete to lift the responsible pen later to stop it from ruining the carpet.

Shifting slightly on the sofa where they had been watching a movie before Patrick fell asleep, Pete lifts the mug balancing on the armrest and sets it on the floor - careful not to jostle Patrick’s head in his lap.

When he’s done that he mindlessly runs a hand through Patrick’s hair. Something that’s a whole other story. And Pete’s pretty sure the angels themselves wove it because it’s so thin but shimmers so much in the light and is now missing the hat that usually hides it . A piece that gets replaced every so often, a limited edition black hat that’ll be stuffed into the archives of Patrick’s bag before too long.

His glasses are a story in themselves too. Maybe from Patrick squinting too much as a kid or sitting too close to the TV when watching cartoons. And imagining a small Patrick squinting at the giant letters at the opticians with his legs dangling off of the chair as he guesses the answer paints a cute image in Pete’s head.

Pete also thinks about adding some additions of his own, in a few years maybe. When their lives become a bit less chaotic and bit more stable, and with all the colour schemes he’s had to work with for merch and designs over the years he _knows_ a gold band would fit in comfortably next to his pale complexion. That it would match his golden hair perfectly.

There could be later additions much, much later too. With maybe a few marker scribbles intruding on Patrick’s bare arms, imaginary tattoos drawn on shakily by tiny hands and maybe a paint handprint on his cheek if things get particularly messy but he has to talk to Patrick about that one - even if they’ve both toyed with the idea before.

He’s drawn out of that fantasy quickly though when Patrick shifts again and straightens out before going lax again and Pete sees a small smile tug at his lips.

“The film’s over isn’t it?” he asks and opens his eyes and suddenly Pete’s thinking about forests and rivers and- “my neck fucking hurts now, why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You looked comfy. I didn’t realise,” Pete says and runs a hand through his soft, golden hair again. “Sorry.”

Patrick smiles softly “S’okay,” he says, “I’ll live.”

And all Pete can do is smile as well and lean down to give him a peck on the lips, glad neither of them are going anywhere soon and they get to make as much history and art as they want.

“Glad to hear it.”


End file.
